Easy4reel:
and NOW.....the BOSS is BACK. Thanks for the updates!

Eazy! Na you be the boss o. You're welcome sir...

VanTee20:


Thanks Keziah ... Btw, you have a mail.

Yeah, thanks. I've replied the mail.

And please don't let Cassville fall into so much ruin in the hands of the 'angelic devils'
Well done again.

finally u say make u cum bck abi. vANTEE i fo flog u o. Tnks anyway welcome bck

its really a story, keep it coming..... great job

kizzykeziah:


Yeah, thanks. I've replied the mail.

And please don't let Cassville fall into so much ruin in the hands of the 'angelic devils'
Well done again.

Seen...

Lol.. I can't promise that. Only the heroes can prevent the city from falling to Sir Millicent and his hordes..

Thanks again.....

Dsparker:
finally u say make u cum bck abi. vANTEE i fo flog u o. Tnks anyway welcome bck

No vex, I won't leave again without finishing the story off. Thanks ma'am...

princessadeola:
its really a story, keep it coming..... great job

Thanks ma'am and welcome on board...

after so long, thank God i dint unfollow. Lovely story, ride on!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Prince squinted as the harsh yellow rays of the midday sun hit him straight in the eyes on stepping out of his cell in the company of two rebel guards. It was the first time he was seeing light of that intensity since he had been brought to Cevout. He had spent all his days there stashed up in a tiny, ever dark cell where he could neither stand straight nor see his own nose.

One of the guards, a tough looking, whip wielding rebel, pushed the Prince forward roughly, forcing him to increase his pace to the fastest he could go with his chained feet. With that pace, they walked down the long passageway to a wide field of wild growing pasture where all the inmates at Cevout were required to do manual labour.

“You are assigned this patch,” The guard who pushed the Prince the other time informed, indicating a portion of the field that looked too big for a patch. “Your task, starting from now, is to weed this portion every day until it is as smooth as the floor of your father’s throne room, and then we will assign you another.”

“Did Dunstan ask you to do this?” The Prince inquired from the guard.

“That’s none of your business, just do what you are told,” The second guard barked.

“That’s fine,” The Prince replied. “Just tell him I’ll make him to pay for all this when the time is right.”

“Forget it son, you are not leaving this place.”

“Don’t write him off yet,” the second guard advised. “He may yet leave in a body bag.”

Both guards thought that especially funny as they roared with laughter on their way back to the cell. The Prince cursed under his breath as he watched the guards return to the camp, leaving him in the middle of the tall shrubbery with only a crude looking tool to work with. The Prince wished he hadn’t been bound; he would have run up to them and massacred them with his bare hand.

“Just the man I’m looking for,” A husky voice said behind the Prince.

Prince Galleine turned sharply to see Frasser with three other men who were armed to the teeth with different kinds of weapons. For a moment, The Prince wondered if Frasser was really an inmate in Cevout. How could he be a prisoner and still be strutting around with armed men behind him?

“What do you want now?” The Prince asked.

“I want your head off your neck,” Frasser replied with an air of finality, and then he signaled to his men to attack.

A dark complexioned chap with locked air attacked the chained Prince first, he charged at him with a glistening hatchet in his left hand and a deadly looking sabre in his right hand. The Prince’s combat instinct kicked in instantly, he knew he stood no chance of escaping death if he let black guy run up to him, he had to be proactive. Prince Galleine promptly leapt at the black guy, ramming his blond head in the black guy’s solar plexus. The chap grunted in pain and fell to the grassy floor. The prince quickly reacted by knocking him out with a punch to a pressure point in the temple then he picked up his sabre and used it to hack off the chains holding his hands and feet.

All of that had happened in a flash. The other men were particularly shocked at the speed with which the prince had decapitated their man. Before they could get their acts together, the prince was already on them. In the next moment, both men were on the floor with blood furiously spurting from cuts on their necks.

“Give it up big man, I’m tired of killing your puppets,” The prince said as he wiped streaks of blood from the sabre.

“Not to worry, I’m just making sure you are fit ahead of the inmate fights. I don’t want to fight a subpar Prince there. I want to fight to the man that is the third best knight in the whole of Casville. It will be such a pleasure cutting your head off in the front of your people.”

The Prince watched as Frasser walked away from him with a majestic gait. For a split second, he considered hurling the sabre in his hand at Frasser but he quickly dispelled that thought. As a knight he had to play fair at all times. They will have to fight it out in the ring. He hoped for Melissa and his mother’s sakes he came out victorious.




* * *

“Hey Daryl, you look like you saw a ghost. Are you unwell?” King Gavyne asked his bald, middle aged chariot driver as he entered his war chariot.

“I am fine, my lord,” Daryl replied as he spooked the horses. They responded by swiftly pulling the chariot away from the arsenal towards the road that led to Lehbein. A loud war cry erupted behind the King’s chariot as all the soldiers of Casville, both foot soldiers and horsemen, followed their King’s lead.

In the middle of all the noisemaking and dust-raising by the Casvillean soldiers and their horses, Daryl let his mind wander to the disturbing events of the previous hour. He could afford to do that because the horses he was supposed to control were special breeds that were used to moving on their own accord.

Daryl had been in the arsenal to pick up the King’s weapons when a hooded figure had shown up beside him.

“Are you Daryl, the driver of the King’s chariot?”

“Who wants to know?” Daryl asked courageously although he was feeling jittery on the inside. Perhaps that was what it meant to be a man sometimes, keeping your fears inside of you.

The figure chuckled and then removed his hood. In that moment, Daryl found himself staring in the attractive face of Sir Millicent.

“Oh! Sir Millicent, I’m sorry for…”

The highly rated Knight cut him short, “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t know it was me.”

“What can I do for you sir?” Daryl stammered.

“Ease up Daryl, I mean you no harm.” Sir Millicent said as he put an arm around the quaking man’s shoulders and then he whispered, “The scroll in your pocket is for your eyes only, destroy it as soon as you are done reading it. Make sure you read and understand every bit of it, your life depends on it.”

It was on the tip of Daryl’s tongue to ask Sir Millicent what scroll he was talking about when he saw that a rolled up piece of brown paper was indeed lying in the side pocket of his coat. It was then he realized that Sir Millicent had slipped the scroll in his pocket when he had put his arm around his shoulder the other time. Daryl looked beside him to see that Sir Millicent had disappeared from there. He looked around but saw no sign of the elegant Knight.

With a shaky hand and a sweaty forehead, Daryl unrolled the scroll and began to read the small, neatly written words. Halfway through the letter, the shakiness of his hand had transferred to the whole of his body.

“Stop the chariot!” King Gavyne roared his command.

Daryl jolted out of his reverie and promptly stopped the horses from pulling the chariot any further. He wondered for a moment why the King had halted the progress of their campaign when they were only halfway to Lehbein, and then he saw a man dressed in the Casvillean military garb riding a white horse towards them.

The man, on removing his helmet, turned out to be Sir Millicent. He rode straight to the King’s chariot and engaged him in a conversation after curtsying.

“My lord, there is a problem,” He began. “My division was attacked not long ago by some creatures. They are humans all right, but they seem to be immortal.”

“Immortal humans?”

“Yes sire. They are called Phantoms. I have instructed my men to hold them off while I come to warn you of the danger.”

“How are your men faring against them?”

“Badly, I must confess,” Sir Millicent replied. “Perhaps, my lord, you should consider returning to the citadel while I take control of these men.”

“Why will I want to do that?”

“Your life is more precious to the empire than the lives of all of us here put together. If I take control of this troop now, then you’ll be able to return to the citadel to deliberate with the governors and the lords on how to tackle this problem.”

“You have spoken well nephew,” King Gavyne replied. “I will heed your wise counsel.”

With that, the King commanded that his chariot turn and head back to the citadel. In the process of carrying out the King’s order, Daryl caught sight of Sir Millicent winking at him. He knew what that meant. It was time to execute that audacious plan in the scroll.

RICKYMARIO:
after so long, thank God i dint unfollow.
Lovely story, ride on!

Thanks for keeping faith with the story sir..

I hope d king wont be killed. Nice one. Pls update often.

princessadeola:
I hope d king wont be killed. Nice one. Pls update often.

I hope so too.. Thanks ma'am.. Will try.

suspense! hope the king survives

RICKYMARIO:
suspense! hope the king survives

Time will tell if he will escape... Thanks for dropping a comment sir.

happy, day d story is back, had 2 start reading 4rm chapter 1 to jolt my memory

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“How far are we from Austieres?” Helena asked Royce after they rode past what looked like an abandoned camp of patrols.

The brown haired stable keeper rubbed his sleepy eyes gingerly before replying. “A couple of hours at our current pace, but I know a certain trail that will get us there an hour or two earlier.”

“Is it a safe trail?”

“Nowhere is completely safe when it comes to tracks and trails,” Royce replied truthfully.

“Let’s keep to the normal route then,” Helena offered.

“Your wish remains my command,” Royce answered, with a shrug of resignation.

The duo rode on for several moments not saying a word to each other. Helena was lost in thought about Marcus, she wondered if he could still be at Darlen’s castle. If he wasn’t, there had better be some other way she could reach him because she could not imagine another day passing without seeing him. Royce on his own part busied himself with observing those changes that had occurred on this track since he was last there.

“Tell me about you.” Helena asked abruptly.

“There is nothing to tell. I am a simple stable boy,” Royce said with a forced smile.

“I know that. Tell me something different. Something I don’t know already.”

“I was a Lord’s son.”

Helena’s jaw dropped in genuine shock. “Why, how did you become a stable keeper?”

“My father died and his cousins took over everything. I would have fought them but they threatened to kill my sisters. I had to leave them alone.”

“What about your mother?” “I never knew her. She died before I became of age.”

Helena felt an upwelling of pity for this boy who was so young, yet had experienced so much. “I’m sorry. I will surely speak to my father about you and your ….”
“Wait!” Royce interjected sharply.

“What is it?”

“Night chasers,” Royce replied in a voice that said all was not well. “We are being followed by them.”

“What are Night chasers?”
Royce scratched his head as he tried to think of the best way of explaining the concept to the interested lady. “They are the military arm of the Golden eye sect. What they do is to kidnap people, ladies mainly, for the sect’s rituals.”

In that moment, two turbaned up rider of black horses appeared on the opposite of the Seuw, approaching Helena and Royce from their right side.

“Can we err . . . out run them?” Helena asked in a shaky voice.

“Not to worry, I know exactly how to deal with them.”

That said, Royce retrieved his long custom made whip from his bag of supplies and lashed it at one of the Chasers. The whip caught the chaser around the neck and when Royce pulled the whip back to himself, the Chaser roared with pain as the blade like edge of the whip cut into his neck, causing him to fall off his horse and smash his head on one of the numerous rocks by the side of the road.

“You are dead meat!” The second Chaser bellowed at Royce when he saw the fate that befell his colleague.

Royce immediately decided that a whip won’t be enough to deter this one, so he removed two flint knives from his bag and hurled them one at a time at the fast riding chaser. The Chaser evaded the first knife but he wasn’t as lucky with the second as it sank in his forehead. The Chaser fell to the ground a very dead man

“You are amazing!” Helena gushed. “I can’t believe you just…”

Helena’s speech was left uncompleted as a very large park of Chasers, numbering about two hundred, rode into sight.

“Don’t try to run. You are within our archers’ range,” The leader of the pack yelled.

“I’m sorry,” Royce muttered his apology to Helena before leaping off his horse and raising his arms in a gesture of surrender.

“It’s okay. You did your best,” She whispered to his back.
They were both tied and blindfolded before being bundled into two different carts.

“Take the girl to the shrine and feed the boy to the dogs,” The leader of the park commanded his subordinates before leaving.

Unknown to the Chasers, a figure was lurking behind a cluster of trees to their left, taking note of everything they said and did. The figure’s voice was a gentle rustle in the wind.

“Hang in there girl, I’m coming to get you.”



* * *

The noise was deafening at Garras’, a local alehouse cum brothel in Werl, a small farmers’ settlement just a few hours ride from Cevout. It seemed everyone in there was trying to outdo the next person in blowing out his vocal chords.

Marcus watched on with disgust as men drank themselves senseless and half naked wenches moved around displaying their wares. He wished he hadn’t listened to Elliott when he had suggested that they come here to see if they could get any information about the Prince’s whereabouts.

“You have no idea how much you can learn from a drunken bugger or some chatty slut,” Elliott had said.

Since they had arrived here, all Marcus had done was to sit in a corner and observe proceedings while Elliott had long disappeared into one of the service rooms with two girls beside him.

“Hey mister,” A red haired, middle aged woman with heavily painted lips called out to Marcus. “Want to get into one of those rooms?”
“I’m not interested,” Marcus replied gently but firmly.
“Come on,” The woman urged as she leaned forward so that three quarters of her milk factory was flashing in Marcus’ face. “I am willing to take a pay cut. I just want you in there with me.”

“No way,” He replied, struggling to avert his eyes from the luscious flesh in front of him. Deep within him, the lust for flesh was fast taking over. Helena’s innocent face that kept flashing in his mind was the temporary reason he hadn’t made any move to cross the Rubicon yet.

The woman wasn’t about to give up on this handsome youth. She knew that if she pressed a little more, he will succumb to her. She grabbed his hand, ignored the shakiness and pressed it against her bosom.

“Let him go Vyna, he’s not ready,” A voice said above the din

Marcus cocked his head in that direction to see Elliott standing with folded arms, watching the redhead’s seductive antics. Marcus was nonetheless thankful for the timely intervention.

“Elliott! I have missed you,” Vyna said, turning her attention to Marcus’ rumpled haired friend.

“Excuse me Vyna, I need to speak with him,” Elliott said, gently evading the kiss she wanted to plant on his lips.

Moments later, Vyna left but not before another seductive wink at Marcus and then, Elliott was left with his friend at the table.

“You know her?”

“Sure. She’s a long time costumer.”

“How do you live with yourself after sleeping with prostitutes?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Elliott replied with a short laugh. “Did you find out anything?”

“Nothing,” Marcus replied. “You?”

Elliott wiped sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket, “I did find something. Do you care for a drink?”

“I don’t drink. What did you find?”

“I found out we were right all the while about the Prince being held captive at Cevout,” Elliott disclosed. “The bad news is that the Prince has gotten in a fight with some bastard called Frasser, and they are going to be facing each other in a competition among the prisoners.”


“You think the Prince can’t beat the Frasser guy?”

Elliott shook his head. “It’s a mismatch. Frasser would murder him in little time.”

“I’m sure the Prince will win,” Marcus opined. “I will spend three days in Vyna’s bed if Frasser wins.”

“And I’ll stop taking liquor and bedding sluts if the Prince wins,” Elliott said.

“You can’t do that!”

“You too!”

Both men laughed as they walked out of Garras’ to the nearest stable where they tied their horses in a bid to resume their journey.

“Sh!t! Our horses are gone.”

THE END OF CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Timcy2:
happy, day d story is back, had 2 start reading 4rm chapter 1 to jolt my memory

I'm sorry about that sir...

Still following FEED ME MORE!

RICKYMARIO:
Still following FEED ME MORE!

More on the way sir..

RICKYMARIO:
Still following FEED ME MORE!

More on the way sir..

According to my own oyinbo 'this is wonderfully wondrous'. Man keep it up

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“Why are you taking this route?” King Gavyne asked Daryl as the chariot took a left turn off Sadven Street to a narrow path on the way to the Citadel.

“Nothing. . . No, I mean it is er. . . the best route to the citadel,” Daryl blabbered. He had been rehearsing on that line since he read Sir Millicent’s scroll. Now that he said it, it didn’t even sound any convincing to him.

“Are you sure about that? This doesn’t look more than a footpath to me.”

The King was right, the path with its overgrown weed and uneven ground looked nothing like one used by beasts of burden. Daryl scratched his head as he racked his brain of a more convincing lie to tell. He was however saved the stress of saving his face by the sudden appearance of a fully armed Knight in the middle of road, blocking the path of the chariot as well as brandishing two double edged swords that glinted in the morning sun.

The King’s face immediately became flushed with anger and he roared, “Go and tell that Knight that he is obstructing a royal chariot and if he doesn’t give way he will be run over.”

Daryl stopped the chariot and alighted with a feeling of apprehensiveness. He knew that this little drama was part of Sir Millicent’s grand scheme which he was supposed to play along but the part of him that was still loyal to the King and the land kept screaming that he should turn back and drive the King out of this death trap immediately.

I can’t sacrifice my family for the King, Daryl thought as he walked up to the unmoving Knight.

“Sir, my Lord the King says. . .”

That was how far Daryl got with the King’s message to the Knight before he felt a pain that defied any form of definition or explanation course through his neck. He had never experienced anything like that before and never will he feel it or anything else again because in that instant he fell on his knees and then on the floor with his head landing a few seconds earlier. The Knight had sliced Daryl’s head off his neck.

In the next moment, the Knight removed his helmet to reveal the grim facial features of Sir Tremor. He approached the King’s chariot with slow, leisurely steps.

“Sir Tremor?” The King called in shock, not believing that he had seen the Knight behead his chariot driver. “What madness is this you just displayed?”

Sir Tremor chose not to give any reply to the King’s question. He only inched closer to the chariot and after he had gone considerably close, he pulled off his metallic hand gear and flung it on the floor, right in front of the awed King.

“King Gavyne,” He called after a brief period of silence. “I challenge you to mortal duel.”
* * *

“I can do this, I can do it,” Malzene muttered to himself as he sat in the pitch black darkness of his cell which was somewhere in the recess of the State’s maximum prison facility. He sat still with his legs crossed beneath him and his hands placed on his forehead level with the third eye spot while his fingers were configured in a strange way. His current stance was a perfect portrayal of the mudra of mind awakening.

“Maestyu Sanyuu,” He gently said the spell that was needed to open his vision eye or third eye as it was more commonly called. Malzene knew he should have done this long ago but he had foolishly led himself into believing that it was the gods were withholding visions of the future, now he knew that the gods were trying to get to him it was his third eye that had snapped shut that was preventing him from getting anything.

Malzene repeated the spell for the second and third time, and then a dark feminine being with three big horns and a pair of wings appeared out of the blue.

“Malzene D’Aubriere, your supplication has gotten to the Prince of the earth and he has sent me to give you this,” The being said, handing him a small black pouch.

On opening the pouch, Malzene brought out an unevenly cut piece of crystal. He looked back at the daemon in askance. He obviously did not fathom the relevance of this irregularly shaped crystal to his cause.

“All your answers are in there. Just keep looking into it.”

Malzene looked into the crystal ball again. At first he saw nothing, then after persistent staring the flashing image of a regally dressed man lying at the feet of a Knight with blood gushing out of his mouth became visible to him. Malzene immediately had the understanding that the royal robe clad man on the floor was King Gavyne.

The disturbing image remained for a few moments after which it was replaced with something more sinister, a couple was seen necking and giggling playfully. They seemed not to be aware that a large creature was sneaking up to them from behind, it was the Negirrel.

“May the gods help you Marcus,” Malzene muttered as soon as he saw the image.

That image too was replaced after a short time. In the next image, Malzene saw a big man raising a sword aloft, ready to plunge it in the body of a blond man was crawling at his feet, bleeding profusely through deep cuts on several parts of his body. Malzene easily recognised the bleeding man as Prince Galleine.

“The Prince too?” exclaimed Malzene. “I have had enough of these doom visions, have the pouch back.”

The daemon shook her small head in refusal. “Not yet human, there is something about yourself that you need to see.”

Malzene removed the crystal once again and peered at it just as he had done the first time. He was soon rewarded with a bird’s eye view of the city square. He saw Sir Millicent and Lady Suzannah standing on the podium, arms locked, smiling and waving at the multitude of people beneath them. They both wore purple dresses and golden crowns. Malzene grudgingly admitted that they looked great together.

“Good people of Casville, we are gathered here, united in our stand to collectively bring down all our enemies of our great kingdom both within and without,” Sir Millicent began enthusiastically. “We all know the enemies on the outside. They are the rebels, the army of Savages, the North Rhodesians and others like them, but the insider enemies are more difficult to fish out which makes them more dangerous to the safety of our beloved land.”

“Today, we have gotten two of them, thanks to the valiancy of our brothers in the army and we intend to use the punishment of these unpatriotic infidels as a warning to others in their ilk,” Sir Millicent concluded after which he clapped his hands.

Two blindfolded and bound men were brought forward by the guards. Sir Millicent signaled to the guards to remove the men’s blindfold. The men turned out to be Sir Tremor and no one else but Malzene D’Aubriere himself.

“Cast them into the furnace!” Lady Suzannah roared.

In a flash, Malzene saw the furnace that Lady Suzannah was talking about, it was burning wildly and fiercely. Even the heat radiation seemed to reach him through the crystal.

“These things I’m seeing are not good,” He said to the daemon, after hastily tearing his eyes off the crystal. “Can anything be done to change them?”

She shook her head again. “They are literally written in the stars. All of these events you have seen must surely come to pass.”

“Wait, are you saying that myself, the King, Sir Tremor, the Prince and Marcus are all to perish in this struggle against evil?”

“If that was what you saw in the crystal then so be it.”

“But there should be something. . .”
The daemon had vanished before the sorcerer could get the remainder of his complain out. Malzene sat there with his head hung in sadness. Without mincing words, the latest revelation had just dashed his hopes of getting out of this alive. It was all over already.

* * *

King Gavyne was dumbfounded. Sir Tremor had slaughtered his driver and now he was challenging him to a fight? What kind of dream is this?

“Pick up the glove Sir. I hate killing people without any form of resistance.”

“You asked for a duel Tremor,” The King said in a voice that gave away his fury as he drew his huge, golden hilted sword from his scabbard. “You are going to get more than you requested.”

So it began, the most brutal fight ever undertaken by any two men in Casville. The jousting competitions that were always held during tournaments were child’s play compared to this one, a fight between a King, who was fighting to save his life and defend his honour, and a Knight, who had lost his mind but not his might.

For minutes unending, they crossed swords with neither of them seeming ready to succumb to the other. Strike for strike, blow for blow, they fought on. Each determined to prevail over the other. King Gavyne was clearly at disadvantage because he was not dressed in armour like his opponent but he made up for it by being proactive with his attack thereby giving Sir Tremor little room to exploit his weakness.


The defining moment of the duel came when Sir Tremor did a feint and sent a blow to the King’s head. King Gavyne showed remarkable flexibility to turn his head away from the blow. He then used the situation to his vantage by suspending Sir Tremor’s sword in the air with his own sword and then sending a vicious kick to Sir Tremor’s shin. Before the knight could recover from the burning pain, the King knocked him to the floor with a hard blow to the head.

“Tremor, you are about to die in a way that will be remembered for thousands of years to come,” King Gavyne said as he held his sword to Sir Tremor’s eyes, ready to gouge it out. Then the King saw something that made him stop - the Knight’s eyes. Sir Tremor’s eyes were blood red - iris, sclera, pupils and all. The King, a once dedicated spiritualist, knew what that could mean. The Knight might be under a spell.

The King leaned closer to have a closer view of the Knight’s suspicious looking eyes but it turned out to be a mortal mistake as Sir Tremor hastily produced a dagger from a small sheath on his side and he buried it the King’s heart.

King Gavyne fell to the ground, cursing himself for being such a fool. He should have been on the guard more. He tried to say some kind of parting words but blood instead of words gushed out of his mouth.

“Sir Tremor, what have you done?” A voice roared from behind Sir Tremor.

Sir Tremor turned to see Sir Millicent and a handful of battle ready soldiers watching him. In that instant, he felt a sudden, inexplicable emptiness. It was as if something was leaving his body and taking a part of his memory with it.

“What happened here?” He asked, looking around him wildly in surprise. “Who did this to the King?” He queried when he saw the King’s lifeless body beside him.

Sir Millicent’s face was a mask of pain - he cut a perfect picture of someone whose uncle had just been murdered gruesomely by one of his trusted men.

“Keep asking that while the dagger with which you murdered him is still dripping with blood in your hand,” Sir Millicent replied testily and then he turned to the men with him. “Restrain the fool. I will see to it that my Uncle is duly avenged.”

As Sir Tremor was being hustled away by the angry looking soldiers, Sir Millicent allowed himself the luxury of a little smile. His improvised conquest plan had been successfully executed, taking less time and resources than the initial plan could have cost. He had simply used his archrival to eliminate his uncle thereby simultaneously taking down the two biggest threats to his plans.

At last, the throne is mine, he thought.

ashatoda:
According to my own oyinbo 'this is wonderfully wondrous'. Man keep it up

thank you sir..

So Sweet, There Must B A Way Out To Prevent All This..More Groundnut Oil To Ur Fingers

Osaze20091:
So Sweet, There Must B A Way Out To Prevent All This..More Groundnut Oil To Ur Fingers

i hope so.. Thanks Sir.

Oh my,more please,feels like am watching movie.

@Vatntee,do you type straight from your heart or do you have this written down somewhere already?


Thumbs up,excellent.

carmelion:
Oh my,more please,feels like am watching movie.

@Vatntee,do you type straight from your heart or do you have this written down somewhere already?


Thumbs up,excellent.

You'll definitely get more ma'am..

No, I haven't written the complete story somewhere already. Why do you ask?

Thanks ma.

Welldone!

RICKYMARIO:
Welldone!

Thanks for commenting sir..

Vantee baba u ar really moving with this story its as if am watching film more mb to your fone

vickkydgreat:
Vantee baba u ar really moving with this story its as if am watching film more mb to your fone

Thanks boss..

wow, splended.